


dead stars and dead hearts.

by ProjectFYERBIRD



Category: IT (2017), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Angst, Child Abuse, Fluff, Gore, Implied/Referenced Attempted Sexual Assault, Lesbian Beverly Marsh, Other, Physical Abuse, The Forgetting (IT), This Is Sad, Unhealthy Relationships, Violence, because we all know how it ends, eventual angst, no happy ending, they forget :/
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-05
Updated: 2017-12-23
Packaged: 2019-02-10 20:28:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12919644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ProjectFYERBIRD/pseuds/ProjectFYERBIRD
Summary: charlie had been nice. charlie had been normal. charlie maida had been human. then It had come for them and took all of that away in a few sentences of speech. now they were in another country, forced to live in the sewers beneath some little maine town with a monster. between vehemently refusing to become like It and slowly but surely falling for the first girl not to treat them like a freak, charlie doesn't think this will end well for them. it's all fun and games until the doubts creep in and the monsters crawl out from beneath the bed.





	1. a howling beast hears us talk.

**Author's Note:**

> id like to take the time to put emphasis on the fact that charlie and pennywise do not have a healthy relationship and i am not woobifying pennywise by making It out like It would be a good parent to something that is not Its own offspring. It is 'taking care' of charlie (if you could call it that) for Its own ends, which are purely Its own selfish motives that do not have charlie's best interests in mind. It is partially driven by instinct to 'protect' charlie and teach them what they are and how to be whatever Its species is. there is no love between them. but instinct only goes so far and charlie is very antagonistic so physical spats, harsh language, and threats are common between the two interdimensional beings.
> 
> chapter title from yellow lights by of monsters and men.

It came.  
Again, it came.  
The monster from within  
making its presence felt without  
a word.

\- AJ Chilson

It was feeding when It first felt the pulse. It was small - a mere blip in the Macroverse. But after so long without feeling the presence of an Other - not even that blasted old Turtle - it was like a cannon blast in a quiet room. Blood and gore dripped from Its teeth and meat hook-like claws as It cocked Its head to the side, trying to locate that blip again. For a minute there was nothing but a resounding, empty silence that left It wondering if It had _imagined_ \- and didn't _that_ make the skin of Its physical form crawl with disgust - the blip before It felt it again. This time it was stronger. A grotesque grin spread across Its face, splitting the corners of Its disguise at the seams of Its mouth, exposing a terrible gullet lined with downward pointing fangs. Its Deadlights glowed at the base of Its throat, painting the fleshy walls with a sickly orange glow. A noxious mix of anger and curiosity churned in the bottomless void of Its stomach, for who would _dare_ encroach on Its territory, and yet . . . beyond the stupid, lazy Turtle who never left his shell, It was not aware of an Other. It called out, Its Deadlights reaching out to questioningly brush against the Other's own Deadlights, distant and slippery in It grasp but still there.

Somewhere in Ontario, Canada, fourteen-year-old Charlie Maida collapsed, screaming.

It retreated instantly from the Other, drawing back into Its lair beneath Derry. The glow of Its Deadlights disappeared as It closed Its mouth, Its painted mouth twisted into a sour expression. Disgust was clear across Its features as It processed the three things It had gotten from that second long glimpse into the Others mind. The first was that the Other was young, very much so. It was larval compared to Itself. The second was that the Other had been _afraid_. Where It had once believed Its kind could not feel fear, only feast upon it, the Other's mind had been steeped in tasty, beautiful fear. And the final, and most important, thing It had seen in that single second was that _the Other thought themself human_.

Emotions warred in Its mind. It was intrigued

_(an Other this young? On this planet? That paraded themself around as a food item?)_

and angry

_(how dare they settle on this planet when It had claimed it for Its own!)_

and apprehensive

_(what if they wanted to take Its territory and drive It out? Was the Other strong enough for that?)._

With a hiss, It set aside Its meal, which was nothing but a strips of bloodied cloth stuck to a hunk of torso that had been shredded into ribbons of flesh. The few partially exposed ribs had deep teeth marks in them, where Its jaws had struck bone during Its meal. Its tongue flicked out lazily from between a trap of bristling fangs and It cleaned Its claws of dried blood before rising from Its crouched, hunched over position. Rocking back on Its heals, It carefully mulled over Its next decision, all too aware of what might happen if It did not make the right choice. With a sound like a beetle scuttling over leaf litter, It chittered thoughtfully. It knew what It was to do.

It would find this Other and bring them back to Derry, teach them how to be what they truly were - a creature of the Macroverse. 


	2. ignore the warning signs and follow me home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> charlie maida had been having a normal day until the monster came into their mind. and then the monster came and took them away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning for a severe invasion of privacy (seriously, penny, wtf dude?), some minor mentions of gore, threats of bodily harm, and kidnapping

Sometimes in doing battle,  
Conventional weapons are useless.  
  
What good are guns,  
What good are knives,  
What good are bats,  
If the enemy doesn't bleed?  
  
Sometimes in battle,  
All you can do is run,  
And hope that whatever it is,  
That thing chasing you,  
Won't be able to catch up.  
  
But if you're unable to run,  
And fighting is futile,  
What else can you do?

\- Bill

At 2:45 in the afternoon, five minutes before the bell that would signal the end of the school year and the beginning of summer vacation rang, fourteen-year-old Charlie Maida felt the monster enter their mind, skimming across their thoughts in a slick, oily press of consciousnesses. Potent, primal fear seared across their mind with just that one touch. Some instinct, buried deep after millions of years of disuse but still there, told them to run and hide, told them that this was wrong. 

Charlie screamed, their voice the hysterical tone of a whistling kettle. Eyes rolling back to the whites, they collapsed to the floor while their classmates watched on in fear. 

No one noticed the claws that burst from their fingernails, or the teeth that suddenly crowded their jaw for that split second. But they did notice the blood that dripped from their nose, their eyes, and their ears. 

And then, as quickly as everything had started, it was finished. 

Charlie's head felt as if it had been stuffed with cotten. A dull ache was suffused in their limbs, which felt heavy and leaden. Their eyes felt dry and scratchy, and their tongue felt like sandpaper in their mouth. Their ears rang. They felt thin, stretched out. Like butter scraped over too much bread. 

When the doctor asked, they relayed all of that in a calm tone unfit for a teen, betrayed only by the way their hands shook when they fisted them in the fabric of their jeans and how their legs trembled when they walked. 

The hospital was sterile clean, smelling of antiseptic and cotton swabs. Charlie sat cross-legged with a book in their lap on the hospital bed in a stiff hospital gown, shifting every few seconds as the starchy fabric rested uncomfortably on their skin. The heart monitor beeped steadily. The clock above the door read 9:00 at night. After five hours of questions, a physical, and an MRI scan they had decided to keep them here for the night despite the protests of their parents. But after enduring hours of their fussing, Charlie - even though they harboured a bit of guilt for thinking that way - was relieved to be without them for the final quiet minutes of the night when visiting hours were over and before they were to head off to bed.

Charlie loved their parents, they really did, but they were born for a different time. They had no doubt that they loved them, but they also thought that they were a 'she' and that 'she' liked boys.

Doctor Doktor - they wondered if that last name was the reason he had become a doctor - stuck his head into their room, and they looked up from their copy of Richard Matheson's _I Am Legend._ He gave them a kind smile, the corners of his blue eyes crinkling. They supposed that he was handsome, with salt and pepper hair and blue eyes like ice chips. He was the type of man that the girls in their class would giggle and whisper about at lunch if he was a supply teacher. "Lights out, kiddo." 

They let out a little hum, sliding in a black bookmark with a blue feathery tassel at the end and setting their book down on the table beside them. "Goodnight, Doctor," they called out softly as he left. 

"Night, kid."

They reached over and grabbed the stuffed dinosaur that their parents had gifted them. Its cat yellow marble eyes glinted in the darkness. Charlie hugged it to their chest. A warning that felt prickly as it crawled across their skin and shuddered up their sign made them peer into the darkness of the room, looking for monsters that weren't there.

Not yet, anyway.

* * *

Three hours later, at exactly 12:00 in the morning, Charlie jerked out of their sleep with thr creeping sense that something was very, very wrong. Suddenly hospital room 114 felt stifling. Stifling and dangerous. And then, the moment they made to swing their legs off the bed, something slithered across their shins and pressed them down into the bed with inhuman force. A strangled 'hrrk' left them as some heavy pressure landed on their chest. It felt like someone's knee. 

Belatedly, they realised that they hadn't opened their eyes yet. Embarrassment welled up in their chest but it was soon squashed down by that primal fear they had felt earlier as that same alien presence brushed against the consciousness. They didn't want to open their eyes anymore. And yet, they did, however unwilling the action was.

Their breath stuttered as they saw the clown looming above them. It had flaming hair and a face caked in white greasepaint, and blood red lips painted in a false smile, all dressed up in a frilly white costume. Its eyes burned danger yellow.

Of course, Charlie knew that It wasn't a clown. It may have _looked_ like a clown, but It was something so very worse. An evil and a ceaseless hunger older than the universe they currently resided in lurked behind that clown facade. A timeless creature with origins outside of the universe. It was not a comforting thought.

It suddenly retreated, removing the pressure from their chest and legs. They scrambled up the bed, the sheets and their dinosaur plush clutched to their chest as they breathed heavily. Its oily consciousness pressed against their's again and they recoiled with a scream. 

At the foot of the bed, It smiled. "Scream allllll you want, larva. No one will come."

Its voice broke on all the wrong syllables, rising and falling without any discernable pattern. Charlie's breath hitched. _Oh God_ , they thought, _It didn't know how to speak like a human - why would It, when Its only interactions with humanity was to feed upon them? Why would It need to know our language if all It does is eat us?_ They didn't want to know how they knew that It fed on humans. The connection was a two way street it seemed. Even if It had the information trickling from Its mind in a choking stranglehold.

"Why - why are you here?" They asked, stumbling over their words. Its eyes lit up, the yellow boring piercing holes into the hazel of Charlie's own. It felt like It was peeling back the layers of their soul and looking at everything they had felt and experienced and knew. A headache began to built behind their eyes. It felt like a wedge was being driven into their skull at the point between their eyes, slowly growing more and more painful as It dug around in their mind. 

"Stuh - stop!" They cried out, cradling their head in their hands. Charlie could _feel_ slick tendrils shifting though memories, invading the deepest recesses of their mind. "Get out!" Their voice sounded high pitched and panicky. They were scared, so, so sacred.

It looked at them. "No," It said.

Charlie grit their teeth, digging their nails into their scalp. The bright points of pain that flared up helped them focus. _Anger, not fear_ , they thought. 

"I said," they managed through a clenched jaw. A vein stood out in their neck. "Get. _Out_." They shoved against Its presence with all they had, using their anger and pain as a driving force. They screamed. In the hall, where the lights were dimmed down low, the lights burst one by one in a shower of sparks and glass. Blood dripped out of one nostril. They pushed and pushed until they were out of their mind and inside _Its_ mind. 

It was chaotic. It was like they had stuck their hand in a jar filled with barbed wire and salt while they whirled about in a tornado of darkness. It _hurt_. Flashes of images and words filled their mind.

_A vast turtle. Brother. Darkness that twisted and curled around them like viscous slime. Heat and fire trailing behind them as they fell from the sky. A screaming whistling. An impact that rattled their teeth inside their skull and jarred their form. A ceaseless hunger that gnawed in their belly like a creature with dull claws. Screaming. Crying. Crunch and splat. Hot blood gushing down their throat and that hunger being assuaged for the moment as they sank their teeth into the child's tor -_

They ripped themselves from Its mind, their chest heaving as blood trickled from their nose. Their face was drawn, pinched tightly into an expression of horror and revulsion at what they had seen and felt. Their skin was sickly pale, their cheeks flushed, and their stomach twisted itself into knots as they tried to keep the days meals down. 

Meanwhile, It had Its arms wrapped around Its stomach, laughing uproariously. Its laugh was just as bad as the way It spoke - something high pitched and manic that didn't sound quite right. It was the feeling one gets when they bite into a lemon transcribed into sound. Like nails on a chalkboard, or someone scraping a razor blade down their spine. Charlie shuddered and drew their knees to their chest, burying their face into them. It was probably unwise for them to take their eyes off of It, but they didn't care whether they lived or died anymore. Not after what they just saw. _"That's_ more like it!" It managed through Its giggling

When It stopped Its horrible laughter, Charlie looked up. Their head felt heavy, like a cinder block rested upon their shoulders instead.

"Where are you from, little larva?" It asked, with a grin stretched so wide it seemed to split Its face at the seam of Its blood red lips. Little fangs poked out of Its exposed gums.   
  
"Grimsby," they said tiredly.

It let out a growl that made them flinch away. " _No_. Where are you _from_?" Its voice came out harshly, and buzzed in their ears like an agitated insect. It was growing impatient now, eager to see what It had came for. With Its impatience spurring It on, It delved back into their mind, shifting through nonsense memories as it dug for what It wanted . . . only to find nothing. Oh, there was plenty inside of there, but not what It wanted. It sneered in disgust, lips curling back to further expose the fangs poking through. 

" _Pathetic,"_ It snarled. 

 _Come with me,_ It said. Its mind, still entangled with their own, spoke to them. It was less words and more a feeling. It was a bad feeling, settling over their skin like a thin layer of oily grime and soot. It felt like a foul concoction of grease and garbage juice had been rubbed into their skin, clogging their pores and dirtying them. 

They didn't want to go with It. They wanted to go home.

"Of course you could with me willingly," It offered in a gleefully sly tone of voice. "Or, or _or_ , I could eat your caregivers in front of you and _then_ take you." It reached out with a single gloved hand. Charlie wondered how such an innocuous thing - an offered hand, a white silk glove - could seem so threatening. They supposed that _anything_ It did seemed threatening. 

Reaching out, they grabbed Its hand.


End file.
